


shadows are tracing with sorrowful fingers

by lady_laverty



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horses, Gen, characters may change as story progresses, i am actually really really sorry, i'm so sorry but i've had this in my head for about 3 weeks now, lots of hobbits as horses, the company as stable hands and grooms, thorin as a horse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_laverty/pseuds/lady_laverty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End Farms, whose parents basically reared him on a horse, never feared them. They were wild beings; they always will be. You cannot fault a horse no matter its initial temperament to have an off day where it gives in the wild instincts of its ancestors and goes on a merry dance down the orchard, leaving you on the ground covered in dust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shadows are tracing with sorrowful fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry but this has been nagging me for quite a long time so I had to write this.
> 
> Also I had a huge urge to write Thorin as a horse I don't know why I just did and this is a indulgence of this urge.

 

Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End Farms, whose parents basically reared him on a horse, never feared them. They were wild beings; they always will be. You cannot fault a horse no matter its initial temperament to have an off day where it gives in the wild instincts of its ancestors and goes on a merry dance down the orchard, leaving you on the ground covered in dust.

As he recovered after his unfortunate tumble (he would never call it a _fall_ because his pride would not let him) he sighed and stared at the retreating equine figure and the cloud of dust the great hooves of the animal created. Retraining and owning eventing and competition horses was a hard job. Many had been traumatised after a horrific fall over a jump or experience. Some had been abused. The sad stories never seemed to end, but he tried his hardest.

With his faithful stable hand/gardener, Hamfast Gamgee, he had begun his journey back into the equine world after a serious accident and subsequent years in hospital and at university. His parents (god bless their souls) had passed on, leaving him with the large farm and all its menagerie of animals. He had cows, goats, sheep, chickens and even turkeys. The horses were the best though; they always would be no matter how old he got or how far he strayed away from his home.

He heaved himself up and made his way to the stables where poor Lobelia had probably strayed to.  He never conceded defeat but that poor horse was starting to grate on his nerves. The genuine sourpuss attitude it seemed to have adopted after being maltreated by her previous owner was starting to annoy the other horses. They isolated her and kicked her and it wasn’t helping her rehab and retraining one bit.

After he had managed to drag Lobelia away from the oats that her stubborn, warmblood, self seemed to _covet_ and untack her and stick her back in her stable, he was surprised to see a tall man, grey haired and dressed impeccably in a steel grey suit, standing at the in the doorway of the stables.

“May I help you, sir?” he spoke, a bit disconcerted that he had managed to get this far without having asked for permission to enter the property. The man harrumphed and leaned heavily on his walking stick.

“And to think I would live to see the day that Belladonna Took’s son forget me! Of all people!” The harrumphing continues and he ambles his way up the aisle.

“I’m sorry sir, I really don’t remember you?” he weakly protests, praying to any god that would listen that he wasn’t a sponsor, because he really didn’t need any more people backing out otherwise he won’t be able to compete at as many shows that he did last year and he really needs to be able to show. Showing meant publicity and publicity meant business publicity and despite his small fortune he would like to have children and give them an inheritance instead of depleting it bit by bit with equine essentials.

“I’m Mr Gandalf!”

And something seems to jump start in his mind and memories from his childhood flow back, laughing and giggling and enticing him to enter them. His eyes widen and a smile breaks across his face.

“Not the Mr Gandalf who always had those beautiful little ponies and fireworks? The one who pulled together such great feasts?”

“At least you remember _something_ of me and I suppose Shetland rides and fireworks are something. But I am not here about ponies and fireworks, I am here about a quest of sorts. Am I correct in assuming you rehabilitate and retrain horses?” He reached over to scratch Lobelia’s nose but swatted it gently instead when her ears flattened straight onto the back of her head.

“Erm, yes I do?” Bilbo was perplexed as to why Gandalf would decide to come to him when he had so much money and personnel at his disposal.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the old stallion Durin Deathless?”

Of course he’s heard of Durin Deathless! Everyone in the equestrian world has heard of that stallion. His bloodlines were pure Durin-Erebor stock and the amount of awards and trophies he had won would fill his bedroom to the brim. Anyone who was anyone fought tooth and nail to get a hold of a yearling from the Erebor stud, some seedier types were even willing to steal even though they wouldn’t be able to flaunt the fact that they had a Durin-Erebor horse in their possession, especially Aaron “Azog” O’Graham, who covets such untouchable things.

“Of course I do! But what does he have to do with me, Mr Gandalf?” With his curiosity picqued, and the subtle glint in Gandalf’s eyes, he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape what plan he had up his tricky sleeve. All he hoped it wouldn’t get him thrown in jail or killed.

“Well I may or may not have recently gained an expensive asset of theirs. Now don’t look at me like that, my dear Bilbo, I do not steal,” he sniffs delicately, as much as an old man can. “I pay for my horses thank you very much.”

Bilbo’s eyes bulged out of his head. His breathing started to quicken and there is a tingle in his fingers that he can’t seem to name. It could be longing or anxiety, for all he knows.

“A-are you trying to tell me you have Durin-Erebor yearling?” he breathes softly, a headache surely starting to form for all the pain his head is giving him. He can’t believe it! The old man has a Durin horse! Oh, how he wishes he could have one even though he knows there are people with more money than him that have trouble buying them from the breeders who breed so exclusively and sell so rarely.

The sound of a horse squealing and the rumbling of a horse truck slowly gets louder and he gapes at Gandalf. Oh no. Oh no, no, no--

“Ah, that would be the  Durin yearling, my dear boy!”

He’s out before he hits the ground.


End file.
